


Of Cherries and Elusive Deputies

by ceruleansmile



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cooking, Deputy Derek Hale, Derek has a little trouble cooking himself a decent dinner, M/M, Stiles cooks a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleansmile/pseuds/ceruleansmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Walking on, he was almost knocked onto his ass when he managed to overlook the brick wall of a man standing in front of the cereals in the next aisle. A broad hand wrapped around Stiles' forearm and Stiles yelped when he almost dropped his basket in surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cherries and Elusive Deputies

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually written in February 2014. I wasn't sure if I wanted to post it here at all, but decided, hey, why not?  
> "###" These thingies mark a scene change.  
> I'm sorry if there are any errors, I do my best to find them, I swear, but sometimes... well, I just do not notice them on occasion.  
> [also posted on my fanfiction.net account: alienated-alien] 
> 
> Enjoy!

Living alone had its perks. No one there to eat the last piece of chocolate without telling, no stolen blankets in the middle of a trembling cold night, no one to nag about the books strewn across every surface or the socks lying scattered on the floor. Indeed, living alone was a blessing. However, Stiles had never had the intention of just leaving home upon turning eighteen.

Instead of moving away to spend the next four to five years in some dingy apartment, working his ass off to make ends for the high-end college his father had hoped he would end up going to, he had stayed home. Had enlisted in an online course and fleshed out his food blog, improving his cooking skills and was actually in the process of publishing his first cook book.

Dad had, of course, not been particularly happy about his ‘highly talented and obnoxiously smart’ child intending to waste away in Beacon Hills instead of going wherever the hell intelligent people went to get a degree. His opinion was changed quickly, when Stiles presented him with the mail of his publisher, stating that his cook book would be in stores by the end of the year.

Currently, he was mixing a bowl of golden cupcake batter, the freshly cut pears resting in a bowl far away from his jerking elbow to avoid an incident similar to the Cinnamon Explosion of December 2011. The thought alone made him cringe. He had spent four hours scrubbing the fine powder from the floor and there were still remnants stuck in the tiny crevices of the kitchen.

Shaking his head with a tiny sigh, Stiles set the bowl down and readied the camera. Changing the lighting and the angle while he took a few pictures of the mixed batter, he arranged the unused pears and cinnamon sticks he had scattered across the kitchen counter to make the pictures more presentable.

He was not a photographic genius, far from it, but Isaac had given him a few tips about how he could make his pictures look professional without wasting hours on photoshopping them. That way, he was not embarrassing himself when he presented his new creations on his, meticulously styled, food blog.

Stiles had named it ‘Wielder of the Frying Pan’ because he loved dramatic names and, honestly? ‘Tangled’ was an awesome movie. He’d love to have hair that glows when he sings. Then again, his singing voice was something no one should be exposed to without proper auditory protection. Or at all.

Stiles poured the batter into the paper cups and wondered if these damn things had a proper name, since Cupcake Cups sounded a little stupid. Once he was done, he pushed the tray into the preheated oven, set the timer and shuffled out of the kitchen to plop down onto the couch. Hands scrambling for the remote, Stiles released a series of annoyed grunts and groans, before he found the elusive gadget and turned the TV on.

Behind him, he was able to hear the front door opening and his father’s heavy steps echoing through the house, “Stiles? Are you home?”

“I’m always home, Dad,” Stiles responded, rolling his eyes when his father started laughing.

“Yeah, you are. I really need to remember that,” Dad walked into the room, peeling himself out of his uniform jacket and dropping it over the back of the couch, “I can smell something baking.”

“I’m making Pear and Chocolate Chunk Cupcakes,” Stiles responded.

“For your blog again? Or because you love your father so much?” Dad ruffled Stiles’ hair.

“My blog, of course,” Stiles grinned up at his father, scrunching up his face, “You know you’re not supposed to eat so much sugary stuff, Dad.”

Dad huffed, “I’ll just sneak some cupcakes out when I go back to work, then,” he sat down beside Stiles, leaning against the back of the couch with a content sigh, “I’ve got a new deputy to train. Deputy Hale. Did I tell you about that?”

Stiles sat up, blinking, “No. Actually.”

“Pretty decent guy,” Dad said, running a hand through the hair at the back of his head, “Looks a little grumpy most of the time, but he’s actually kind of hilarious. He stuck a piece of paper into Rick’s ear when he fell asleep at his desk again. Rick started screaming about ear worms about a minute later, it was glorious.”

“Glad you had fun,” Stiles laughed, “You’re like a bunch of five year olds.”

“I remember someone who put salt in my coffee and then laughed about it for three hours,” Dad tugged at Stiles’ ear gently, “Did you go grocery shopping like I asked you?”

Stiles winced, “Uh. No? I kinda forgot?”

“Stiles,” Dad sighed.

“I’ll go now! Just uh, remember to get the cupcakes out of the oven! And don’t put them anywhere but the-”

“I know, I know!” Dad chuckled, “Get going, Stiles. Don’t forget to bring a little bit of meat while you’re shopping for vegetables, alright? I have no intention of going vegetarian. I heard you have to take supplements to make up for the lack of meat, you know?”

Stiles scrunched up his nose and rolled off the couch, getting to his feet with a groan, “Fine. I’ll bring chicken. Don’t eat the cupcakes while I’m gone!”

Stiles shuffled towards the front door, pulling on his sneakers and throwing a jacket on, since it had gotten colder over the last few days. He grabbed for his wallet and the keys to his Jeep, calling out to his father once more to be careful with the cupcakes, before leaving the house.

The drive to the grocery store was a short and unspectacular one. Stiles parked his Jeep close to the entrance and jumped out. After locking the car, he shuffled into the store and grabbed a basket so he would not end up dropping half of the stuff he picked up. Humming, he wandered down the vegetable display, picking up a few bell peppers, a cucumber in case he wanted to make salad, onions, and an aubergine because they were on sale.

Walking on, he was almost knocked onto his ass when he managed to overlook the brick wall of a man standing in front of the cereals in the next aisle. A broad hand wrapped around Stiles’ forearm and Stiles yelped when he almost dropped his basket in surprise.

“Sorry,” Stiles looked up at the unfamiliar voice, right into a pair of – _what the hell was that colour even?_ – bright eyes, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles laughed awkwardly, “It was my fault, really. I should have paid attention.”

Impossible Eyed Stranger chuckled and released him once Stiles had gotten his feet back underneath himself, “If you say so.”

Stiles grinned, “I say so. Uhm, are you new in town? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I moved here three weeks ago. I haven’t had the time to go grocery shopping yet, though, because I was busy getting my sister to stop putting furniture in my apartment,” Impossible Eyed Stranger picked a box of Choco Pops off the shelf and Stiles’ mouth dropped open when the man’s muscular arm flexed beneath the long-sleeved Henley.

Shaking himself out of his blatant mental drooling session, Stiles waved a hand through the air, “Be glad you don’t have to do it, dude.”

Impossible Eyed Stranger lifted an eyebrow, “If I would let her furniture my apartment on her own, I’d come home to a bright green kitchen and orange tiles. Believe me, no one wants my sister to play interior designer.”

Stiles snorted, snickering as he grabbed some muesli off the shelf, placing it beside the bell peppers and took care not to squash them in the process, “Yeah, I think you have a point. That does sound like a questionable design choice.”

Impossible Eyed Strange offered a lopsided smile, “Glad you agree.”

Stiles grinned right back then laughed, “Uh, yeah. Nice meeting you! Good luck with your apartment, I really need to hurry or my Dad’ll eat the cupcakes I made on his own!”

“Oh, yes,” Impossible Eyed Stranger held out his hand, “Nice meeting you, too. Maybe we’ll see each other around the town sometime.”

“Yeah,” Stiles shook the man’s hand and, with a last wave, hurried towards the meat display to snatch up a pack of organic chicken filets, and two cartons of milk on the way towards the check-out.

Once everything was paid for, Stiles pondered on whether he should wait for Impossible Eyed Stranger and ask for his name. He discarded the idea almost as quickly as he had it. The guy was probably in a relationship and didn’t need some idiot who marched into him in the grocery store to drool after him. Right?

Stiles huffed and left the store. He really needed to stop developing kindergarten crushes on people he just met.

###

“Deputy Hale told me to ask you if you could make more of those cupcakes.”

“Tell Deputy Hale that I’ll make an entire tray for him and two more for the other officers to share, if he promises to keep an eye on your eating habits while you’re at the station.”

“Dammit.”

###

The next time Stiles entered the grocery store a week later, he was, to his surprise, met with the sight of Impossible Eyed Stranger. Clad in a pair of illegally tight jeans and a leather jacket, he stood in front of the vegetable display, looking rather lost.

Stiles bit his bottom lip and moved closer, coming to stand beside Impossible Eyed Stranger, “Hey.”

Impossible Eyed Stranger flinched and turned his head, the frown on his face morphing into a smile, “Oh. Hello, I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles shrugged, grinning, “I drink a lot of milk and I used up the rest to make muffins, so now there’s nothing left. You look like you could use some help, though. What’s the problem?”

“Ah… well, I want to make the vegetable casserole my Dad gave me the recipe for… but I have no idea what an aubergine is supposed to be.”

Stiles reached for the dark violet vegetable, holding it out to the man once he had inspected it regarding its freshness, “Here. That’s an aubergine.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an eggplant,” Impossible Eyed Stranger answered, smiling.

“Yeah, that’s another name for it,” Stiles placed the aubergine into the man’s basket, “I think eggplant sounds stupid though and so does your Dad apparently.”

“Ah… okay,” Impossible Eyed Stranger furrowed his brows at the aubergine, “It looks weird.”

“But it tastes awesome. Believe me,” Stiles gestured towards the vegetables, “Anything else I can help with?”

Impossible Eyed Stranger’s eyes grew a little brighter and the lopsided smile returned, “Well…”

###

“Deputy Hale ate all of the muffins you made.”

“What? All of them?”

“Yeah.”

“That… how?”

“I have no idea. Can I have more Pringles now?”

“...Okay.”

###

“So, basically, you drink milk by the gallon but you don’t buy that gallon bottle, because it’s made of plastic and that’s… bad…?”

“Exactly,” Stiles nodded, “You learn fast, young padawan.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m at least two years older than you,” Impossible Eyed Stranger reached for the milk cartons, “So… cartons, then.”

Laughing, Stiles began to load his own basket with cartons. It was strange. Even though they had not even exchanged names in the weeks they had come to do their grocery shopping together, it barely ever got awkward between them. Most of the time, Impossible Eyed Stranger ended up cracking a dry joke about whatever idiocy Stiles had uttered and they were off talking about whatever once again. Most of the time, ‘whatever’ turned out to be a heated discussion regarding Iron Man and Batman, which always ended in a grudgingly admitted draw between the two.

“What are you cooking today?” Impossible Eyed Stranger asked.

“Ah, I thought about making _spaghetti carbonara_ , you know, the right way. With egg and parmesan cheese,” Stiles answered, checking the eggs he had pulled down from the shelf beside the milk, “I’ll probably bake something, too, if there are blueberries left.”

“That sounds good.”

Stiles nodded, “And you? What’re you cooking today?”

“Probably nothing, I have the late shift,” Impossible Eyed Stranger sighed, “I’m not very good at cooking anyway. I mean, I try, but it’s usually… well… you can eat it. But it’s not breathtaking in any way.”

Stiles laughed, “Everyone has to start somewhere. Just keep trying,” he added some yogurt to his basket, “If you want, I can give you some easier recipes to try out next time.”

“That’d be great,” Impossible Eyed Strange gifted Stiles with one of his lopsided smiles again and Stiles cursed in silence when his heart seemed to skip a beat.

###

“I gave Deputy Hale most of the blueberry brownies you made. Poor guy was so tired, he almost fell asleep eating them,” Dad put on his jacket as he spoke, “He said they were great, though.”

“Glad he enjoyed them,” Stiles answered, uploading his latest recipe onto the blog, “I’ll make more then… should I start giving you more for lunch? If the guy’s too tired to even get himself food, I’m worried about his and everyone else’s safety. I mean, the guy is carrying a gun.”

Dad laughed, “Might be best.”

###

The next time Stiles met Impossible Eyed Stranger, his eyes were drawn to the black plastic splint encasing the man’s lower left arm and wrist. Concerned, Stiles moved over to the man and cleared his throat, “Uh, hey! Did you have a fight with you frying pan again?”

Impossible Eyed Stranger blinked, then smiled, “Ah, no. I had a tiny accident while working. Should be fine in a few weeks. Hopefully. I got bruising all over my back, too. Wasn’t fun to get out of bed today, let me tell you.”

“Wow, that sucks,” Stiles grinned, “You need help?”

“I’d appreciate it, yeah. I wanted to try some of the recipes you gave me a week ago, but now I can’t,” Impossible Eyed Stranger sighed, “I’ll just get a burger or something.”

“Well… my Dad has to do a double shift today because one of the guys called in sick, which is why I made him a lunch box, so he wouldn’t resort to unhealthy food choices. So… we could go get a burger together. Eating alone sucks,” Stiles’ mouth twisted, and he desperately hoped it resembled a questioning smile instead of looking like he had indigestion.

“Sounds good,” Impossible Eyed Stranger nodded, “Then I guess I can go shopping later.”

Thrown by the fact that his proposition had been accepted, Stiles did not realize that Impossible Eyed Stranger was in the process of leaving the store. Only when the man called for him to ‘hurry up!’ did he move on towards the exit. Due to the fact that the only place that sold both curly fries and good burgers was at the edge of the town, they took the Jeep to get there.

“So… is there any chance that I’ll ever find out your name?” Stiles asked, clearing his throat.

Impossible Eyed Stranger huffed in surprise then started laughing. It was different than usual, a little less restrained and there was an odd squeak whenever Impossible Eyed Stranger gasped for air. Stiles giggled along, waiting for the man to calm down and answer him, “We’ve been talking for over a month now and we never exchanged names! This is priceless, if my sisters knew, they’d never let me live this down,” the man grinned at Stiles, “I’m Derek. Nice to meet you…?”

“Stiles,” Stiles answered, then began to stammer at the confused look on Impossible – _Derek’s_ – face, “I-it’s not my real name! It’s a nickname, but my actual name’s is so disastrous, even my Dad needs two attempts to pronounce it right!”

Derek snorted, “That’s unfortunate.”

Stiles pouted, “I’ll leave you on the side of the road, Mister.”

“I highly doubt that. Who’s going to buy food for you if you do that?”

“Hey, I can buy my own food! Just so you know!”

Derek chuckled, “Of course you can. I just thought since you’re driving, I’d buy our lunch. Didn’t think you’d say no to free food.”

“No one says no to free food, dude.”

“Do not call me ‘dude’, please,” Derek grimaced, rubbing at his splinted arm.

Stiles snickered, “Now I’m definitely gonna call you ‘dude’, dude.”

“You are the worst. Why did I agree to this.”

“Because I’m charming and ruggedly handsome.”

“Maybe adorable and hilariously awkward fits the description a little better, don’t you think?”

Stiles flushed a dark red, keeping his eyes on the street as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Still, he would not be a Stilinski, if he did not retaliate, “Oh, so I’m adorable now?”

Derek shrugged, “Maybe. When you’re not being a jerk about my inability to figure out the difference between a filet and a cutlet, then you’re definitely a little adorable.”

Stiles groaned, “Shut up.”

Derek laughed.

They arrived at the small diner a few minutes later, Derek groaning as he crawled out of the Jeep and managed to almost brain himself on the lamp pole close by. Stiles winced, “Dude. And I thought I was clumsy!”

Derek snorted, straightening up, “You try getting out of a Jeep when your back feels like a mule trampled all over it.”

Stiles held out his hand, “Come on. Let’s get you onto a chair before you fall over.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow at him, but grasped Stiles’ hand anyway. If anyone had asked Stiles at that moment whether the heavy blush blooming on his cheeks was in any way related to the fact that Derek’s hand was not only warm, but fit perfectly into Stiles’ own, Stiles would have denied it until his dying day.

Upon stepping into the small restaurant, they quickly found a place to sit, ordering a burger each and Stiles managed to convince Derek to try the curly fries instead of going for the normal ones. The burger was as delicious as ever and after finishing half of it, Stiles began to stuff his face with curly fries, like he would do everytime when he came here with Scott.

Only this time, he was not with Scott.

Freezing, Stiles looked up, cheeks bulging with fries, eyes wide as he clutched another handful of greasy goodness in one hand. Derek was looking at him, that familiar lopsided smile tilting his mouth, eyes narrowed with mirth, burger halfway to his mouth.

Stiles found himself caught in the most awkward eye contact he had ever experienced ever since he walked in on Scott in the shower. Finally, Derek lowered his gaze with a soft chuckle and began to eat once again, leaving Stiles questioning Derek’s and his own sanity.

###

“Deputy Hale tried to come into work today. I gave him the pasta with those roasted chicken slices you gave me and made him go right back home.”

“Still not feeling well?”

“No. Not to mention that he should be taking pain medication, that idiot. He’s worse than you when you’re sick.”

“Hey! I resent that!”

###

Stiles knew he had been neglecting his blog a little bit. Deciding to change that fact, he decided to try making his mother’s Rhubarb Pound Cake. Humming to himself, he began to chop the rhubarb stalks into even chunks. Once this was done, he cooked the rhubarb and a healthy amount of sugar in a pan, setting it aside once the rhubarb chunks were soft.

He prepared the batter, rolling his eyes when Dad snuck into the kitchen and stuck his finger into the batter with a triumphant hum, “Seriously, Dad?”

Dad grinned around his index finger, watching as Stiles shot another fake-artistic picture of the boiled rhubarb cooling in the pan. Finally, he mixed the rhubarb into the batter, carefully combining the two ingredients to not destroy the softened rhubarb. Dad had, in the meantime, done the one thing he loved doing when helping Stiles bake.

Prepare the cake pan.

By the time the batter had been transferred into the pan and shoved into the preheated oven, Stiles’ Dad had moved to sit on the couch in the living room. Stiles shuffled over to his father, flopping down beside him and dragging his laptop closer to stick the memory card of his camera into the slot on the side.

“Any new stories of Deputy Hale?” Stiles asked as he clicked through the pictures.

He would need to take some of the finished cake, too. Maybe place it onto the window sill and take a picture with the dim afternoon light illuminating it. Isaac said dimmer light always looked better, because it obscured the photographed image somewhat and that was, somehow, more pleasing to the eye than a clear picture.

Stiles huffed. That’s why he liked to cook. He understood cooking. Cooking was easy. Photographing was something he did to give people an idea how things should look. Still, he was glad Isaac gave him these tips. He doubted his blog would have been as popular without those pictures.

“Not really. Apart from the fact that he’s been sitting behind a desk for the past week because he’s still not quite up to working and, boy, that guy can whine like a toddler. But I can only do so much to keep him away from the station. The guy’s stubborn.”

“Like you, you mean?” Stiles drawled.

“Speak for yourself, Stiles,” Dad ruffled his hair, “I remember you insisting on wearing your sandals because the sun was out, although it was, what, twenty degrees?”

“I was five, Dad!” Stiles covered his face with one hand, groaning, “Why do you have to keep bringing that up?”

“Because it was funny,” Dad answered, turning on the TV to watch the News.

Stiles grumbled and cropped a few pictures, discarding the rest, “Is the food enough that I give you? For you and Hale, because I’m pretty sure you’re not eating all of that alone.”

“Definitely enough. Hale eats a lot more than I do, though. I have no idea where he puts all that food, the guy’s made of nothing but muscle.”

“O Dad! Are you ogling your deputies?”

Dad rolled his eyes, “Sure, Stiles. I’m ogling a person that’s barely three years older than my son and trips over his shoelaces every morning because he forgets to tie them. He’s definitely not a morning person.”

Stiles snorted, “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. He face planted four times in the past two weeks.”

Stiles covered his face with both hands, snickering into the darkness his palms created. He knew a few of the deputies Dad worked with. Most of them were just a little younger than Dad and while they were all nice to him on the occasions that Stiles ended up visiting the station, he had never witnessed them doing anything so hilarious. It made him want to bake Hale a shoe-shaped cake, just to hear what he would do in response.

After calming down from his giggle-fit, Stiles gestured at the pictures on his laptop screen, “Do you think I should ask Isaac to make the pictures for my cookbook?”

“I think the pictures you made are good, Stiles. But if you feel better when Isaac makes new ones, I won’t tell you otherwise.”

“You just want to eat the stuff I make so Isaac can actually take the pictures.”

“Yep.”

“You are the worst.”

“Love you too, kid.”

###

“Mrs. Dennis came in today. Said somebody stole Monsieur Tenor.”

“You mean that tribble she calls a cat? Who squeaks instead of meowing?”

“Yeah. Hale decided to sacrifice himself and promised her to search for her cat personally. I then witnessed the most awkward moment of my life. Mrs. Dennis actually pinched Hale’s cheek and said he was ‘a good boy’ and maybe he would like to come over for some ‘private lessons in bedroom etiquette’.”

“…Are you serious!” Stiles shrieked, laughter straining his voice into almost incoherent screeching.

Dad covered his mouth, snorting, “I’m serious. You should have seen his face! Once she was out of the station, we started laughing at him. By the time we stopped, Hale ate the Rhubarb Pound Cake I had on my desk. That jerk.”

Stiles slid off the couch and continued to laugh.

###

“You know, we really need to stop meeting up at the grocery store,” Stiles reached for the milk, setting it between the pack of cereal and the bag of apples within his basket.

“Why? I think it’s kind of fun,” Derek added another yogurt to his basket, “But if you want, we can exchange phone numbers. That way, we could actually meet up like normal people.”

They made their way towards the check-out counter. Stiles huffed, pulling out his phone and handing it to Derek. He wanted to ask for his number for a week now, but always chickened out before he even opened his mouth. Derek grinned and, not for the first time, Stiles noticed the bunny teeth the man was sporting.

Stiles wanted to sink to the ground and cry a little.

Instead of turning into a ball of miserable mush, Stiles allowed Derek to plant his phone into his hand and proceeded to type his own number into the phone.

Derek planted his chin onto Stiles’ shoulder, huffing, “Did you just add yourself to my contact list under the name ‘Batman’?”

“Maybe?” Stiles smiled as they exchanged phones again.

Derek shook his head, stuffing his phone into one of the pockets at the back of his jeans. How exactly the phone fit in there, Stiles had no clue. Those jeans looked painted on. Like always. Honestly, how long did it take Derek to get into those pants? Stiles guessed Derek spent half an hour on wiggling and cursing every morning on putting his jeans on.

Derek looked up again, shooting a smile into Stiles’ direction, “Ready to get out of here, then? I need to put the grocery away before I go to work, I got the afternoon shift.”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah, let’s go.”

###

_I think I’m going to murder my coworkers at one point._

Stiles snickered at his phone before replying. _R they annoying u? :D_

_A little. It’s not my fault that old lady keeps coming in here to flirt with me!_

_Hahaha! :D_

_Yeah, very funny._

_Heh. I think it is! :D_

_Sure you do. Want to get dinner tomorrow?_

Stiles bit his bottom lip, then typed out, _Yeah!_

_Burgers and curly fries?_

_U read my mind, dude._

_;)_

Stiles squeaked and pressed the phone to his forehead, ignoring his father’s questioning gaze as he began to giggle. Because, from time to time, he was allowed to act like a twelve year old with a big crush.

###

“So, Scott said he’d be coming over right away. It takes about ten minutes for him to get to my house, right? I wait half an hour and then call him again. I hear that stupid ringtone of his right outside my kitchen window and when I look out, I see him lying in the garden, snoring.”

Derek snorted, almost spitting out his fries again as he clapped his hand over his mouth.

Stiles snickered, “I still have no idea why he decided to take a nap in the garden instead of ringing the doorbell. I mean, he was right there!”

Derek swallowed the fries and planted his cheek onto the table, hysterical laughter spilling from his mouth as he waved one hand through the air. Stiles guessed it was a sign for him to stop, the wheezing did not sound healthy after all.

“Seriously, Scott can be such a dork,” Stiles shook his head, smiling, “But he’s my best friend, I love him.”

Wiping at his eyes, Derek sat up, grinning that stupidly adorable Bunny Teeth Smile of his, “I bet. You two must have been a hazard when you were children.”

“What can I say, I don’t think there was ever a day where we didn’t get into some form of trouble,” Stiles ate another handful of curly fries.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Derek reached out and added some of his own curly fries to Stiles’ almost empty plate.

Stiles licked his upper lip, smiling and attempting to ignore the flush streaking across his cheeks and up the curve of his ears, “Thanks.”

They had been meeting up for over two months now. Stiles was still not over the fact that this guy, who looked like he had been hewn from marble and sculpted into perfection by Michelangelo himself, befriended him in a supermarket of all places. He was also not over the fact that he kept having these horribly cheesy, romance-novel-esque thoughts about Derek.

In the weeks they had come to know each other, Stiles had learned that Derek came from a large family. He had three sisters and a brother, with him being the second oldest after his sister Laura. He was allergic to silver and not fond of swimming because ‘chlorine stinks’. Stiles had tried to explain that it was not actually the chlorine that stank, but the fact that some people peed into the water which then caused a chemical reaction and thus, the foul odor. Derek had done an impressive act of pretending to throw up into a trash can.

“You want to get a milkshake afterwards?” Derek asked, licking salt off his fingertips.

“Sure,” Stiles answered, returning the smile he received.

###

“I think you need to make more of those Banana Hazelnut Chocolate Cookies you made.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Hale found them and devoured half of them like a starved wolf.”

“He’s going to get fat if he keeps on doing that. How many trays should I make, then, so that the rest of you guess get to eat some, too?”

“Uh… Five?”

“Five. Alright, you really need to talk to Hale about his eating habits, Dad. They’re worse than yours.”

“Hey!”

###

They met up at the cinema, because Stiles had kept whining about wanting to see Frozen for three days now and Derek was, while patient, not a saint. So, by the end of the third day, which was a Thursday by the way, Derek invited Stiles to the cinema if he would ‘shut up about the movie and for God’s sake, please stop singing that song!’.

Which was why they were now squabbling about who should pay for the tickets.

“You paid for dinner last time!” Stiles huffed, “I should pay. I’m the one who wanted to see the movie in the first place.”

 Derek rolled his eyes alongside the poor guy behind the counter, “I invited you. I’m paying. End of discussion.”

“No,” Stiles tilted his chin up and crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I’m paying.”

For a moment, they were both silent, staring at each other with narrowed eyes. Stiles was about to break the stillness with another comment, when Derek reached out and Stiles had only time to utter a terrified squeak as his world tilted. Thrown over Derek’s shoulder like a sack of flour like he was, Stiles found himself face-to… well… ass with Derek’s behind.

“Oh my God!” Stiles shouted, “Derek! That’s not funny!”

“Be quiet,” Derek grunted and Stiles twisted to see that Derek had paid for their tickets, “This is what you get for being annoying.”

“Derek! I swear, I’ll bite you in the ass if you don’t let go of me right now!”

Derek pretended to drop him, eliciting another shriek from Stiles, “ _Derek_!”

Laughing, Derek shifted Stiles until he was able to set him back down onto his own two feet, “There. You can pay for the popcorn.”

“We’re having nachos, jerk,” Stiles huffed, “How the hell did you do that? I can’t be that much shorter than you. An inch, maybe.”

Derek shrugged, “I work out.”

“Alright. I’m going to get us nachos. Wait here,” Stiles stomped off and ordered nachos, ignoring the giggling woman behind the counter as he paid.

###

_Let it goooo! Let it gooooooooo! :D_

_I swear to God, Stiles, if you do this one more time I’ll break into every house until I find the one you live in and give you a cold shower to clear your head!_

_Let the storm rage on! The cold never bothered me anyway! :D_

_Stiles!_

_:D Come on, dude! Have some fun!_

_It’s four in the morning!_

_:(_

_Fine. We can watch the movie again on Sunday. Just let me sleep alright?_

_:D! Night-night!_

###

A sick Derek was a horrible sight. Not in the sense of it being disgusting and ugly and should-be-hidden-in-a-dark-corner-please-thank-you. No. But in the pathetic, miserable kind of way. Stiles had marched into the grocery store humming and stopped in front of a sniffling, coughing Derek who looked like he spent the entire night in a freezer.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles mumbled, “What the hell happened to you? You look terrible!”

“Thanks, you’re pretty, too,” Derek responded, slurring as he spoke through the heavy congestion which had no doubt taken residence within his nose.

“What the fuck are you doing here? You should be in bed!” Stiles planted his hand onto Derek’s forehead, “You’re like a freaking oven! Derek, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t have any tea or soup at home. And I can barely cook. So going shopping seemed like a good idea, because canned soup’s easy to make,” Derek answered, leaning into Stiles’ hand with a tiny groan, “Being sick is _ugh_.”

Stiles snorted, “Yeah. ‘Ugh’ is about right, caveman. Let’s get you home. I’ll make you some soup.”

Derek whined and Stiles felt himself reminded of a puppy wanting to be cuddled. Suppressing an undignified squeal, Stiles guided Derek out of the grocery store and towards his Jeep. Derek’s fancy Camaro was nowhere to be seen, so Stiles guessed Derek had walked to the store. Good, that meant one problem less to deal with.

Getting Derek into the Jeep was easier said than done. Stiles struggled to push the taller man onto the seat and Derek had no intention of being even remotely helpful. Once Derek was sitting upright and the safety belt was buckled, Stiles shut the door and climbed in behind the wheel to start the car.

Driving to Derek’s apartment was an even bigger obstacle, because Derek kept dozing off at the most inopportune times, leaving Stiles to guess where he was supposed to go next. Once they arrived, the entire spiel of getting Derek from point A to B started anew. Getting him out of the Jeep was not easier than getting him into it and Stiles had no clue how they finally reached Derek’s apartment in the end.

Using the key Derek had offered him with a dazed smile, Stiles unlocked the front door and dragged Derek inside. He kicked the door shut with his foot once he was sure all of Derek’s limbs had made it into the apartment and settled the man down onto the large couch in the middle of the wide-spaced living room-kitchen combination.

Stiles slipped out of his shoes and removed Derek’s own alongside his jacket, because he knew how uncomfortable clothes became when you were sick.

“That’s an awesome apartment. Loft? I have no idea what you call these kinds of things,” Stiles hummed and moved into the kitchen, “Any wishes regarding the kind of soup you want?”

His answer was a soft grunt and a whine. Stiles rolled his eyes and opened the fridge.

It was pretty well stocked and Stiles noticed that the fridge door was littered with the recipes Stiles had written down for Derek. Smiling, Stiles decided to make a simple carrot soup. It was easy and would not take too long.

Stiles admired the modern kitchen as he planted the ingredients onto the counter. Opening the cupboards, he pulled a large pot out of one of them and found a glass bottle of olive oil. He chopped the carrots into small cubes and cut up an onion, throwing both into the pot in which the oil had been heating up slowly.

He continued to prepare the soup, mixing a good three fourths of it in the blender before adding it to the rest again. He liked leaving a few carrot cubes. It was what his mother had always done to give the soup a more homemade feel to it. Finally, Stiles lowered the heat and filled two bowls with soup, carrying them over to the small, wooden table in front of the couch.

Derek had gotten dressed in his pajamas while Stiles had been cooking, it seemed. The man was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a stretched-out shirt, displaying a faded print of Hulk. A duvet was pulled halfway over his legs, as if Derek had lost interest in covering himself at some point.

“Have you called into work already?” Stiles asked as he sat down on the coffee table.

Derek nodded, rubbing at his forehead as he sat up again, “You really didn’t need to cook… I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” he accepted the bowl from Stiles with a tiny smile, “Thanks. If my nose was working, I’d tell you it smells delicious.”

Stiles laughed, “It’s fine. I have nowhere to be and you definitely needed to get home. Did you catch the flu? I’ve heard it’s been going around for a day or two now.”

Derek gave another nod, slurping down a spoonful of soup, “Oh God, I wish I could taste the full extent of this, it’s delicious…”

Snorting, Stiles began to eat, “You can have more after you finish that bowl. If you feel like you’re going to throw up, tell me beforehand, okay?”

Derek offered a thumbs-up and continued to shove spoonful after spoonful of soup into his mouth.

Stiles promised not to say ‘I told you so’ when he found Derek kneeling in front of the toilet an hour later, gracing the white porcelain with splashes of sickly orange. Sighing, Stiles cleaned Derek’s face up, made him brush his teeth and settled him back down on the couch. If Derek was not at least a little better in three hours, he would call his Dad that he would be staying at Derek’s to look after him.

Not that it would help with his Dad’s constant nagging about when he would meet this mysterious Derek guy. But, hey, this was not about Stiles. This was about Derek who was curled up on the couch, covered in two blankets and snoring fitfully into the pillow Stiles had stuffed beneath the man’s head.

Being sick should not look this adorable on anyone.

Stiles sighed and settled down on the soft carpet again, reaching for the TV remote.

###

“What was in those cookies you gave me to take to work today?”

“Uh… oatmeal, chocolate chunks and dried cherries, why?”

“Because Hale loved them. He told me to tell you that. Well, he told me to tell you that you are a kitchen god and that he will kiss the ground you walk on should he ever meet you.”

Stiles snorted, coughing as he inhaled his milkshake, “Oh my God, Dad. So, I’m guessing he likes cherries, then?”

“Uh-huh,” Dad nodded, “Definitely does.”

###

“When’s your birthday?” Stiles asked as he laid splayed across Derek’s couch, feet on Derek’s lap.

“31st of October.”

“Are you kidding me.”

“Nope,” Derek changed the channel, “And, no, I’m not particularly fond of pumpkin. Unless it’s pumpkin soup. I love that.”

Stiles snickered, “I bet your Mom calls you her little pumpkin.”

“Dad did, until I turned fifteen.”

“Your Dad’s terrible, Derek,” Stiles giggled, poking Derek’s abdomen with his toe, “So, what do you like, then?”

“Uh… Cherries. I like those.”

“That’s oddly specific. But it’s something I can work with,” Stiles laughed, “I’ll see what I can do. Your birthday’s in two weeks anyway. I’ll torture Scott with feeding him my creations.”

Derek chuckled, patting Stiles’ ankle, “You do that, Stiles. You do that.”

###

Scott groaned, “No more. Please. I think I’m going to either explode or be sick.”

“Go puke in the toilet then, I just cleaned the sink,” Stiles pulled out the Chocolate Cherry Cake that had just finished baking.

Setting it down onto the kitchen table, he looked at Scott, “What do you think?”

Scott burped, “Looks good. But, please, give me some time to digest the other stuff you made me eat. I’m serious; I think I’m going to barf.”

Stiles pulled the cake from the table and carried it away to place it onto the window sill, “Alright, you big baby. Can you stand up? You can lie down on the couch and we can watch Avengers again. I’ll just make Dad take the cake to the station. I’m sure the deputies will enjoy eating it. Especially that one new guy who keeps eating the stuff I bake for all of them.”

Scott snorted and shuffled into the living room, flopping down onto the couch with an overdone groan, “Well, you’re awesome at cooking and baking, Stiles. What do you want?”

“Ugh,” Stiles put in the DVD and pressed play, moving Scott’s legs to sit down onto the small space left on the couch, “I have no idea. I’m just glad I have additional income or we’d have no food at all in this house with the amount of cooking I’m doing at the moment.”

“When’s that cook book of yours coming out anyway?”

“15th of December,” Stiles answered.

“Awesome,” Scott sighed, grunting as he shifted to get more comfortable, “Isaac asked me out.”

“What!” Stiles screeched, “And you didn’t tell me!”

Scott groaned when Stiles punched his side, “Mercy!”

“I hope you said ‘yes’ you fucking asshole!”

“Stiles, please! _Mr. Stilinski, help_!”

###

“Deputy Hale absolutely loved that cake, Stiles. I think he was crying a little while he ate it.”

“Dad, be serious.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you should have seen his face! It was like he found out what the number forty-two actually meant.”

“’The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’, Dad? And you wonder why I turned out the way I did.”

“Be quiet, kid. Your Mom and I did great.”

“Yeah. You did.”

###

Stiles raised his hand and gave a firm knock to Derek’s door. The Chocolate Cherry Cake was stored in the container her held in his hand, carefully decorated with a few additional cherries and a small, unlit candle.

The door was opened and Derek peered out through the gap, a smile lighting up his face when he met Stiles’ wide eyes, “Stiles! I didn’t expect you to come here. I thought you’d be handing out sweets to the monsters running around today.”

Stiles grinned, “I couldn’t just leave the birthday boy to celebrate on his own, right? Let me in, I brought homemade cake.”

Derek opened the door fully and allowed Stiles to step past him into the apartment. The TV was on, some kind of Halloween Cartoon Special flickering across the screen and there was a bowl filled with Pringles sitting beside a glass of apple juice sitting on the coffee table.

Stiles set his burden down beside the Pringles and lifted the plastic cover of the container, revealing the cake beneath. Derek flopped down beside him, blinking at the cake, “This… looks kinda familiar… Chocolate Cherry Cake?”

Stiles nodded with a bright grin, “Yeah!”

Derek smiled and Stiles rushed into the kitchen to get two forks, not bothering with plates. They could eat the cake like this, right? He returned to the couch and held out the fork to Derek, who was still studying the cake with a strange expression on his face. Stiles started to wonder if he had done the right thing. Maybe he had misread their closeness?

Derek ate a forkful, chewing slowly before freezing where he was sat. Stiles bit his lip, “Derek? Are you okay? Oh my God, did I mix up salt and sugar? I did, didn’t I? Fuck, that didn’t happen in ages, I thought I’d-”

“You’re the Sheriff’s son!” Derek exclaimed, cutting off Stiles’ rant, “You- you made those cookies, and the brownies and… and you made your father bring me food when I had a double shift!”

Stiles gaped at Derek, “Oh… oh my God… you’re Deputy Hale!”

Derek started laughing, “And I was sitting here and I didn’t know what to do with myself, because I was so into that guy’s food but I was also into your food and…,” Derek covered his face, groaning, “Oh God.”

Stiles flailed, “You… I’ve been cooking for _you_!”

Derek snorted, “Yes, yes. For five months you’ve been cooking for me. For five months I’ve been talking to the cute guy from the grocery store and never realized it’s the same one that’s been feeding me so I wouldn’t starve because I’m too stupid to work a damn stove.”

“Y-… wait, cute?” Stiles blinked.

Derek’s face flushed a dark shade of red, from the bottom of his chin up to his hairline. Stiles was mesmerized, “Yeah. Uh… yeah. I kind of… thought you were cute ever since you bumped into me in the grocery store. But you never really… well.”

Stiles blinked then started to giggle, “Holy fuck. I thought you were hot the second I looked at you, I swear, Derek. And then I actually got to know you, and you were even more awesome than I thought. God, we’re idiots.”

Derek set his fork down and held out his hand, “Let’s… try this again. My name’s Derek Hale. I work as a Deputy at the Sheriff’s station. I’m also really bad at cooking and I love cherries.”

Stiles took Derek’s hand, “I’m Stiles Stilinski, I’m taking online classes and I’m in the process of publishing my first cook book. I run a food blog and I think we should kiss now.”

Derek smiled his Bunny Teeth Smile and the next coherent thought Stiles managed to scrape together, was that he was pretty sure that he preferred Derek’s talented mouth over the Chocolate Cherry Cake.

Although the combination was pretty awesome, too.

_The End_


End file.
